


do I wanna know

by olandesevolante



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olandesevolante/pseuds/olandesevolante
Summary: It’s not the omelette’s fault if he fell in love and he doesn’t have the courage to admit it and say it out loud. If he fears rejection more than he hates this limbo he’s in.





	do I wanna know

**Author's Note:**

> -Title from the song of the same name by Arctic Monkeys.  
> -This is of course a work of fantasy. All recognizable names of people and places are being used for creative purposes only and not for any sort of profit.

_Maybe I’m too_

_Busy being yours_

_To fall for somebody new._

_(Do I wanna know, Arctic Monkeys)_

Everyone thinks they’re a couple and Domi has nothing against it, at all. Except, there’s a problem: it’s not true.

Because yes, he and Sascha are always affectionate even in public, and in private they have this not better called relationship in which they get off each other when they want to, no strings attached because no one ever talked about feelings. It just felt right, at some point, to kiss each other senseless instead of playing FIFA together, to fumble with clothes and to let Sascha suck his dick until he could see stars. To make the long limbs of the German go numb, sprawled on the bed, after having given him the strongest orgasm he has ever experienced.

And Domi has always been fine with this. Behind his attempts to give cocky answers and to show a confident behaviour, Sascha is a kid (not that Domi himself is that older, actually, but he’s 25, which means four years of difference still sound like a big one. He wonders if he’ll feel the same when they’ll be 41 and 45, if then finally he won’t feel like the German sounds that much younger than him. Hell, he hasn’t really thought about being with Sascha even in their forties. He _swears_ he hasn’t.) Anyway, Sascha is still a kid, and who does want a serious relationship at 21, especially when you’re a famous athlete who travels around the world for most part of the year. He just wants to have fun, and Domi too. He’s totally fine with taking the best that he can from their friendship, might it be lunch together, a round of FIFA or a blowjob. Everything is fine.

Or at least, it was until some time ago, until the Austrian didn’t start feeling a pull at his heart every time he had to leave Sascha, or the pang of jealousy that rouses whenever the German posts a story on Instagram tagging Melo – and it’s stupid, he knows it is and he knows he has no right to feel like that, but he really can’t help feeling it.

Domi wants something more out of this strange relationship (it’s not strange, actually, it’s just that he’s never thought he’d end up being friend with benefits with someone, and surely not Sascha), but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, for some more clarity about it, about what they both feel would be enough, to start with. But he doesn’t know how to do it.

Flowers? Restaurant? It’s not they don’t talk – they were friends before this all even started and they were, especially Sascha, just kids when they first met, they talk to each other a lot about a great variety of things. But when Domi tries to say something about this specific matter, he thinks he’s going to spoil the mood and ruin their day, so he gives up and thinks _next time_.

Except this _next time_ keeps delaying itself.

So maybe, maybe, he thinks, he needs to speak about this when they’re in a different situation. Admittedly, it’s difficult to bring this matter up when Sascha looks like a cat who had all the milk he wanted, sated and spent after a blowjob and with those bright eyes looking at him with a liquid, melt expression, and Domi feels his heart breaking at the thought that his words will ruin that work of art he helped to create. But neither when they’re doing something else, because, come on, he just can’t start from _I’ll play FIFA again with you only if I can use Chelsea_ and end with _hey, Sascha, you know what, I think I’m in love with you_.

 

\-----

 

It’s a casual thing. He has to remind this to himself, because when he sees Sascha, completely worn out but happier than ever after having won the trophy, all Domi wants to do is kiss him until their mouths go numb, until Sascha can’t anymore wait and starts rubbing against his thigh. Except this would mean kissing in public, and while everyone rumours about them, this would mean making their relationship official, and their relationship actually happens not to exist at all. It aches in Domi’s chest, this absence.

The next day, when Sascha pushes him against a wall and unzips his jeans, Domi tries to say something. He really tries. But then the German looks at him from under his lashes, hushes him, and envelops his cock with his mouth and Domi’s legs go weak and his hands grip Sascha’s hair: he is just a man, after all.

 

\-----

 

When Sascha loses too, Domi just needs to look at him to desire something more. (Ok, maybe he wants it in general and it’s not the faces he makes after a match that makes him want to talk about feelings.)

«Where’s Lövik?» he asks as he enters the German’s room. He usually soothes himself petting the dog, so it’s strange to find Sascha curled on the bed without it this time.

He doesn’t answer; he just scrolls his shoulders and curls even more into a ball.

Domi sits down next him and starts stroking his blond hair gently, with slow moves. In these occasions, Sascha reminds him so much of his cat, which loves scratches behind its ears and looks at him with big eyes as beautiful as Sascha’s are. God, his brain can be so cheesy when it comes to the German.

«I’m never going to win a Slam,» mutters Sascha, barely opening his lips.

«Don’t be stupid. Of course you will,» answers Domi. He moves his hands to stroke lightly his cheekbones, because he knows Sascha, the big cat that he is, loves that too. Sometimes Domi is sure he’s going to purr against his hands.

«Mmm.» He has seen the German after different losses and he has never looked this sad, this drowned out. Domi would give away a limb to make that mouth curve in a smile right now. (Ok, maybe not exactly a limb, since he still plays in this tournament, but it’s the thought that counts, right?)

«Hey,» starts Domi, and then pulls a bit his hair when Sascha doesn’t react to his voice. «Hey. You still have plenty of time, and plenty of talent. You are going to be so successful, Sascha.»

The German, looking unconvinced, doesn’t reply for some minutes, and just closes his eyes to enjoy more the gentleness of the Austrian’s fingers on his face. Then, he says: «When I was on the court, it all came to my mind... How my record at Slams is bad, how tired I was, how my legs were aching, and suddenly I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight on the match. The rest, I guess everyone has seen the result.»

Domi just wants to erase those bad thoughts from Sascha’s mind. That’s what he thinks as his hands start running down the German’s arm, move to the chest and fumble with the belt.

«Stay there,» he only says when Sascha starts reacting. «I want to be the one to make you feel something good today.»

If the moans the German can’t help escaping from his mouth even if he tries and the pull on his hair are telling, Domi can think he accomplished his mission. Sascha lays still in the afterglow, an arm thrown on his eyes, slightly panting. His face doesn’t at least look that crushed anymore. At least that.

Domi spoons him from behind, he tries to surround Sascha’s way longer limbs with his own, and the German lets him manoeuvre himself without opposing any kind of resistance. Since he’s usually different from this, always playfully being an obstacle to Domi’s intention, the Austrian is still a bit worried about him. He leaves a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. «Try and sleep some. You’ll feel better.»

The German snuggles more into him. «Stay?»

Domi freezes. Not that they have never slept together, but they never had to ask each other about it. It’s just something that happened, too tired to go back to their room after a movie or just too comfortable there. This, though. This is a different situation, this is Sascha asking him to stay with him because he wants to right now. And despite how much Domi wishes for this to be the normality between them, he knows they have to talk about this before. He knows he has to be the responsible one right now.

«And let your father find us like this?» He gives him another kiss, this time on the shoulder, to soothe his words and soothe the pain he feels inside at the thought that he has to move away from the German. It’s searing his chest, this time.

«He won’t come. I told him to stay with Mischa for his match. _Please_ ,» and Domi thinks of how many time a heart can break in a single day because the tone of the voice Sascha used in that last word opened a crack in his.

«I’ll stay until you fall asleep.»

Sascha just hums in his throat, and lets himself be lulled by the rhythmic thump of Domi’s heart against his back, and by his strong, protective arms around his own body. The Austrian waits until he’s sure Sascha is asleep, sometimes leaving a soft kiss through his hair, before leaving the room.

It’s a casual thing, Domi has to remind himself. Nothing more than that.

 

\-----

 

And Domi wants to think this is casual, wants to for the sake of them both, because it’s just better for them both if at some point they grow out of this, they find someone they’re really in love with and that they can actually show to the world, or even just to their parents. (Not that he hasn’t met Sascha’s family, since they all travel together, but he doesn’t think at all Alexander Zverev Sr knows what his and his son’s favourite pastime activity is. Actually, he _really_ hopes he doesn’t know.) But it’s hard to believe it when you desperately want it to be otherwise, and when Sascha keeps being sweeter than a triple chocolate cake when Domi is sick with a fever that prevents him to play a tournament they were both supposed to attend and the German keeps texting him every day, all day, to make sure the Austrian is getting better.

 

\-----

 

«So, why are you having breakfast with me instead than with your Sascha?»

«He’s not my Sascha,» Kiki looks at Domi like you look at the mad man of the town, «and it’s because he said he would eat with his brother today.»

Kiki isn’t fooled by this. «They can have breakfast together whenever they want, but you two? Only when you play in the same tournament. So, why aren’t you two together right now?»

«I wish I knew,» answers Domi with a sigh. «I still have to see him since I came here! We texted each other since the day before my arrival, then I arrive and he finds every excuse not to see me, when he usually does all the contrary.» So much for the _he’s not my Sascha_ thing.

He’s in such a bad mood that he doesn’t even want to eat. He has to, he knows, but everything tastes like ashes today. He misses Sascha, and, more than that, he senses that the German is purposely avoiding him and it hurts a lot. He wishes at least he knew what he has done to deserve this treatment.

«Speaking of that...» she nods towards the door of the canteen that are opening, while the two brothers are entering, Sascha laughing at something Mischa just told him. Domi’s stomach melts at the sight, before becoming a tight knot again when the younger German sees him and his face goes blank, just giving him a small nod of acknowledgement before guiding his brother to a very far table.

«See? Do you greet your friends like that? Because I usually don’t.» He stabs his omelette with something that might be described as cruelty, and snorts. It’s not the omelette’s fault if he fell in love and he doesn’t have the courage to admit it and say it out loud. If he fears rejection more than he hates this limbo he’s in.

«You do know he keeps looking here, right?»

«He should just be here instead of throwing glances,» mutters Domi, who is about to torture his apple too. Then he realizes what he said, blushes and looks at Kiki. «Not that I don’t like having breakfast with you! It’s just that I miss him so much, I don’t even think anymore before talking. I’m sorry.»

Kristina shakes his head and looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot ever. Well, she might not be that far from reality, actually. «Just tell him that.»

«Is it something you do? With your friend with benefits?»

She laughs. «Sometimes you can be so blind that I wonder how can you play tennis, Domi.»

 

\-----

 

He doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want their friendship to end up being a parody of itself, only texting each other out of politeness and meet in 40 years asking things like _you remember when I sucked your dick for the first time and I didn’t have any idea about what I was doing_. Hell, apart from the fact that it would be just gross, it’s sad and depressing.

That’s why he corners Sascha to tell him he’s heard of this place they absolutely have to try only after having spoke with Mischa behind the younger’s back, to ask him to find something else to do. He was ready to promise him the world in exchange, but the older German agreed with him before he could say anything. Domi is too relieved to ask himself if Mischa knows what’s going on between them.

 

\-----

 

It’s not like he’s never asked a girl on a date, but this is different. Is he supposed to pay for the meal? Will Sascha get offended by this? Is he dressed too well? What if Sascha comes and he’s wearing his Adidas t-shirt while he’s in a shirt and it becomes awkward? Fuck, this is already awkward.

But Sascha arrives and he’s too wearing a shirt, a black one that makes his eyes look even brighter and for a second, just for a second, Domi is tempted to throw everything away, to pull Sascha in the backseat of the car and just forget about the rest of the world. He settles for a brief kiss on the lips, instead, one that makes his body burn even more and that can’t satisfy him. But he takes a deep breath and drives to the restaurant while Sascha picks the music.

Domi doesn’t wait for Sascha to be the first to talk about whatever the problem is. He doesn’t, really. He just feels this something that really sounds like disappointment in his stomach when they’re both almost at the end of their steak and they’ve joked around during all the rest of dinner, or better, Sascha apparently did while Domi walked on egg shells, unsure if he was saying the right thing all the time.

Simply, he can’t anymore stand this, when he interrupts whatever story Sascha is telling to say: «I think you’re avoiding me.»

Sascha lowers his gaze. «I’m just leaving you more free time.»

«I never asked for it.»

Sascha fiddles with his fork, moves around the leaves of salad in his plate.

«I know you won’t ask for it, that’s why I did it without talking to you.»

Domi frowns. He isn’t understanding too many things. «Sascha, I missed the part in which giving me free time also meant holding a grudge against me. And don’t say it’s not true, you have problems even at greeting me in the morning.»

The German mutters something in Russian and Domi wants to roll his eyes, because that’s what Sascha does when he feels cornered, he hides in a language only he knows. Except it’s somehow endearing, now, to hear him speaking Russian, because it means Sascha too has something he has until now failed to express. 

The Austrian just looks at him, patiently waiting for when the German will remember to speak in a language they both understand.

«You’d feel guilty to tell me you wanted to start seeing more time your girlfriend and spend less time with me, I know you. So I did what you would have never asked me to do.»

The first thought Domi has is that Sascha is talking about someone else. The second, is that Sascha hit his head against a cupboard or something.

«What are you even saying?» The Austrian doesn’t want to sound rude, at all, but he doesn’t have clue about what’s happening, and it’s starting to be unnerving.

Sascha chews on his lower lip. «I mean, you and Kiki... It’s great. For real. She’s great. You two look great together. Everything is just fucking _great_ for the both of you.»

The crushing weight settled in Domi’s stomach disappears in a second at those words. Only to be replaced with shock, and a certain desire or laughing until his ribs hurt.

«You’re an idiot,» _the dumbest idiot alive_ , Domi would add in other occasions, but Sascha’s face already looks so sad that his heart breaks at the thought to add more sadness. «Of all the people I had to fall in love with, I fell for the only tennis player who believes what tabloids say.»

Sascha blinks, mouth open.

«For fuck’s sake, Sascha, you’d really think I’d blow you in the evening and then the day after start a relationship with someone else? Me and Kiki are just friends, as we’ve always been. You idiot.» If they were at home he would have already dragged him to the sofa and showed him how much not interested in Kiki he is. Sadly, they’re in a restaurant and he’s still present enough to remember not to embarrass them both forever.

«And you were giving me the cold shoulder because instead of asking me, the guy you regularly sleep with, you believed stupid rumours. Goddamn, Sascha, had it been anyone else I’d have him erased from my life forever.»

He could go on for some more hours, probably, with his remarks about stupid has this been from Sascha, but the German interrupts him. «Did you mean what you said?»

Domi frowns. «Which part? The one in which I say I’m not with Kiki? Because I am pretty sure I didn’t kiss her-»

«You said that you love me.»

Oh. _Oh_. Domi was so relieved that the problems between him and the German were actually just a misunderstanding that he didn’t even think twice before saying his thoughts out loud. He actually revealed that he loved Sascha. In probably the less romantic way possible. He’d slap himself, if because he said it without thinking or because he blurted it out while telling Sascha how stupid he is, he doesn’t know, but he’d do it, and more than once.

«Uhm. Well. In my mind this scene didn’t play like this, I mean, I didn’t mean to throw this at you without a preparation before. I mean, it’s not like I thought about, like, candles or something romantic or-» what the fuck is he even saying. He’s probably ruining the evening even more with such aborted attempts at explaining what happened and how he feels.

But Sascha laughs. «Candles? You took me as a Disney princess?»

Domi blushes. Even if he’d like to say that maybe not as a princess, but, with those eyes and those hair, yes, someone might mistake the German at least for a prince coming straight out of a fable, the Austrian won’t embarrass himself with this too. He won’t.

«I just...» Domi stops, uncertain.

Sascha isn’t laughing anymore. He’s looking at the Austrian with such eyes that would set fire to things. Hell, they’re setting Domi on fire, more than they usually already do.

«I like you. I mean, I like _you_. I like all the things we do too, of course, and a lot. And I knew that even before all this, but then when you weren’t spending time with me anymore what I thought of was that I really wanted to talk to you about a million things, to share some thoughts I had with you and hear what your ideas about them were. I just wanted to be with, no matter to do what, I’d have been happy just by being sitting together on the sofa, even in silence.»

Sascha opens his mouth to answer, but Domi is quicker and keeps talking. «And, I mean, maybe love is too much of a word for the stage we’re at, but I don’t have another expression that conveys all the feelings I have when I think of you. I’m not sure this makes sense, now that I have said it out loud.» The Austrian now kind of wants to escape from the restaurant and never face Sascha again, but he keeps still.

«Not talking to you these days has been one of the hardest things I have ever done.» Sascha searches for Domi’s eyes while he talks, but the Austrian keeps them fixated on the tablecloth, obstinately. «Sometimes I couldn’t wait for training to end so that I could tell you something that happened and then when I realized I wouldn’t be able to do it, I was so sad. I mean, I could tell them to Mischa, and I love spending time with him, but it wasn’t him the first person I wanted to talk to.»

Domi still doesn’t move. Sascha sighs.

«What I am trying to say is, I am happy I am not the only one who developed feelings for the other.»

Domi slowly raises his head. «Are you saying you have feelings for me?»

Sascha snorts. «Goddamn, and then you say I am the idiot. I was jealous as fuck at the thought you started a relationship with Kiki, what do you think?»

The Austrian exhales a long, shaky breath. _It happened_ , he thinks. He said it out loud and not only Sascha wants to see him again, but he wants more too. Not only he weighs at least 10 kilos less without the anxiety, he also discovered the German was jealous. Of _him_.

«You can’t even imagine how much I want to kiss you right now.»

Sascha laughs. «I think I have an idea.»

«Let’s just go ask of the bill and go back to the hotel, I can’t stay sit here for another minute, I swear.»

«Are we leaving without eating the dessert?»

«I’ll let you have all the dessert you want at home,» he answers, and Sascha, even if blushing a little, grins. He might be a kid but he’s a kid who perfectly knows the effect he has on Domi and intends on playing this card many, many times in the future.

 

\-----

 

Domi can’t get enough of looking at Sascha, a very satisfied smile dancing on his lips, his cheekbones flushed, relaxed, knowing they share the same feelings now. It’s addicting, the sense of happiness he feels spreading in his body.

«Was this a date?»

«Oh my God,» answers Domi as he feels his cheeks and his ears becoming red and it’s embarrassing to think that their first date will forever be this mess of events, but then Sascha is laughing and is covering his mouth with his own, his hands run on his chest and everything is fine, at least for now.

«I should take a shower. I’m disgusting.» Domi looks at him and the last word he’d think of is disgusting, and God, he never thought love could really make you become such a dopey idiot, but here he is, not being able to tear his gaze away from Sascha since they left the restaurant, not being able to think anything that isn’t that Sascha is perfect, to him.

«You should come too. _We_ are disgusting.»

The Austrian is very happy to oblige, so much that he doesn’t even remark that _hey, to whom are you saying disgusting_.

They’re giggling instead under the spray of water and all Domi can think is _how could I ever be anxious to talk to him about this_. Easy to say that when you’re on the other side of the situation, though.

Sascha’s hair are plastered on his face, on his chest he can see the faint marks he himself left there, and Domi can read from the mischievous smile on his face that he’s debating whether giving the Austrian another blowjob might be a good idea.

It’s messy. It’s perfect. Domi wouldn’t have asked for anything other than this.


End file.
